


A is for Awkward

by iamanidhwal



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Aged-Down Wade Wilson, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alternate Universe, BAMF Wade Wilson, Break Up, Domino - Freeform, Fluff, Good Peter, Human Wade Wilson, Implied Relationships, Jake Gyllenhall! Quentin, Language, M/M, Mild Language, Non-scarred Wade, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter is in his mid-20s, Precious Peter Parker, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Ryan Reynolds! Wade, Sassy Peter, The rating is for language, Tom Holland! Peter, Wade and Quentin are both in their late 20's, background disabled!Wade, freelance, implied Wade/Piotr, past Peter/Quentin, past Wade/Vanessa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-05 12:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamanidhwal/pseuds/iamanidhwal
Summary: Valentine's Day was for suckers. But that didn't stop good ol' Wade Wilson from milking the proverbial cash cow when it came around every year.Wade puts out his usual ad, making paid commissions in time for Valentine's Day.Quentin submits a request for an extra-special work, and by how he describes the recipient of his affections, it's clear that he's totally smitten. And so Wade gets to work, giving it maximum effort to achieve that "triple-W seal of approval". But he couldn't really deny that he didn't feel a little jealous and sad when he sees Peter, the apple of Quentin's eye, because the guy was just drop-dead gorgeous.That is, until Peter outright rejects the gift and smacks Quentin across the face with the force of a thousand suns.





	A is for Awkward

**Author's Note:**

> uwu what's this? iamanidwal, writing /fluff/????? Has she been hacked? (probably)
> 
> ; the rating is only for language here because, well, I just love movie Weasel's banter

* * *

Valentine's Day was for suckers. But that didn't stop good ol' Wade Wilson from milking the proverbial cash cow when it came around every year.

"And done," he mumbled to himself as he posted the same photos through all his social media accounts. It was two weeks before Valentine's Day, and he could already see the sickening displays of red hearts and meaningless professions of love posted on all of the storefronts he walked by in New York.

It was hilarious, really, because the cold front from last year's winter was still there, lasting longer than usual. Rain had come by on the first days of the last week of January, so everyone was drenched, cold, grumpy, or all three. Wade saw the lovey-dovey warm contrast of the Valentine's Day displays in stores, and figured he'd just stay in the freezing rain, breathing in the usual cocktail of smells made out of "fumes from car exhausts belching past", "New York gangster city blood splattered on the sidewalk", and the ever classic scent of "fresh vomit and urine, expelled likely at the same time, by someone who had visited 7 clubs and had been kicked out for 3". 

Yeah. Wade would rather _bathe _in it rather than see another goddamned cartoon giving out an anatomically-inaccurate heart. 

He snorted when the notifications popped up, closing his laptop and reaching for his lukewarm cup of black coffee. "Fuck Valentine's. So hard. In the ass."

"I don't know, Valentine might have liked that." Weasel, his best friend, mumbled back as he sat across his table. He was hunched forward over his second steaming cup of joe, comically shuddering as the scent of coffee wafted up and woke him up. He looked like he just rolled out of bed five minutes before agreeing to meet Wade at the nearby Starbucks, and Wade thought that was probably what the man did, given his job as a bartender.

"Jesus, you know what you look like? The dead, from _Shaun of the Dead._"

Weasel sent him a withering look. "Bitch, you look like a discount Vanilla Ice."

"At least I don't smell like the inside of a party bus parked under the hot sun the day after Halloween."

"You smell like a 100-year-old grandma queefed into a bowl of haggis."

"Ha!" Wade acknowledged his verbal banter loss with a snort. He leaned back against his chair, arm slung across the back. "Good one. Haggis is the worst. Well, second-worst. Valentine's is _the _worst."

Weasel sighed and stirred his coffee, sipping a little bit. "I'm gonna take an educated guess and say Tinder isn't working out."

"Do you see Blake Lively on my lap right now?"

That just earned him an eyeroll, which was _rich _of Wease to do. "Have you tried anything else? What about Bumble?"

"Nada."

"Damn. Grindr?"

"Surprisingly, no luck."

"SeekingArrangement?"

"Got stuck choosing between wanting a sugar mommy or daddy. I've come to the decision that I don't like sugar altogether."

"Jesus, what _haven't _you tried?" Weasel scoffed, throwing his arms up in frustration. "_Do _you even try?"

"Of course I do!" Wade scoffed back at him. "What do you take me for?"

"A big, fat liar." Weasel raised an eyebrow, then swiped Wade's phone off the table as he was too distracted gasping dramatically at his accusation.

He punched in the passcode, then opened the Tinder app. Sure enough, there were dozens of matches from all genders, each tab and name forgotten in the inbox with an unopened message. He showed Wade what he discovered with an 'I told you so' face.

Wade grumbled and took his phone back, pocketing it to prevent further insult to injury. "Yeah, fine, you made your point..."

"Wade, man, you gotta move on."

He grimaced, but he knew Weasel's words rang true. His last official relationship was with Vanessa, and it ended horribly. Words were hurled at each other, all of them Wade had not meant to say, but it ended up with him being booted to the curb with a cardboard box of all his belongings and a venomous "Asshole!" spat at him for good measure before the door slammed on his face.

That made for a shitty Thanksgiving. And it led to a shittier Christmas, and an even shittier New Year's. And now, Valentine's Day was coming up.

Six months ago, Wade had purchased a ring to propose with on said day, which just so happened to be their fourth anniversary.

He threw it into a gutter the first chance he got, right before he went on a six-day drinking binge.

Weasel had to drag Wade's sorry ass through the streets of New York back to his apartment, and even force the man to drink some water at the risk of dehydration and alcohol poisoning.

Wade suddenly felt exhausted, and rubbed his palms against his face in frustration. "Wease..."

"Do you want me to set you up with someone? I could do that, I know people."

"Wow, I had no idea I was friends with _Miss Congeniality _over here."

"Wade."

"No? How about 'Mr. Worldwide'?"

"I'm serious, Wade. Just say the word, and pick your poison."

"Weed?"

"No."

"_Fuck_."

Weasel grimaced helpfully as he drank deeply from his paper cup. Wade just groaned, head in his hands morosely.

"Look, man, just... leave me alone, yeah? I just want Valentine's Day to blow over first. Then I'll humor you with your weird venture into the match-making business. Scout's Honor. Let's... let's just not speak of Ness. Ever. 'Kay?"

Weasel stared at him for a long while behind owlish glasses, before sighing and draining his coffee. He stood up, preparing a few dollars to order another cup. "Alright, fine. Just don't make it hard for anyone else, okay? You tend to do that."

"What, make you hard?" Wade called out after his retreating form, which earned him a well-deserved bird flip, as well as many moderately-scandalized stares from the rush hour crowd.

* * *

By the weekend, he had already filled up the commission slots he advertised. 

Ten was a reasonable number to do, Wade mumbled to himself, slurping a bowl of pho that was precariously placed on his lap. He was used to doing freelance work, used to it taking much of his spare time. It certainly beat lounging around in his modest, hole-in-the-wall studio apartment in Brooklyn, playing video games by day and going drinking by night as he waited for his cheque from the DVA. And it helped a _lot _with the bills, especially when he got some repeat customers from professors in the nearby university areas.

He went through his e-mails, filtering the requests he had decided to do. Of course, he had to delete those e-mails that were trying to low-ball him, complaining about the price point. Art came with a price, and if someone couldn't afford it, they don't have a right to start haggling it down to their specific price range.

Wade wasn't a total heartless monster, though, and would give discounts to a choice few. He particularly had a soft spot to teenagers professing their love to someone. Wade wasn't the type to be the bringer of bad news, and would do his utmost best to help the young'uns win over their beloved (and so far he had a winning streak of 27-nil). 

He opened one request from a Q. Beck, that read:

_Hey there,_

_I'd love to request a digital painting of my darling. His name's Peter, and he's the love of my life. I was thinking a half-body pose would be fine?_

_Also, do you do prints?_

_Thanks, Quentin_

Succinct and straight to the point. Wade liked this guy. Of course, he could've done away with the name and the being the love of his life. But he shrugged it off, thinking that this Quentin dude was probably the type to shout his feelings to anyone in the world who would listen.

He slurped another rice noodle, a little aggressively, and the end of it smacked his chin wetly as he typed out a response.

_Hey Quentin,_

_Yeah, that's doable. I've posted the price list, and a half-body pose will come around to $60._

_Printing is not a problem, although it does count as an extra. It depends on what finish you want. Glossy will cost you 15, and matte is 20 extra._

_If these prices are fine with you, then you can send an attached pic that I can reference._

_-W_

"Printing," Wade grumbled to himself, scratching his hair absently. That reminded him that his usual place to print was a no-go, and had to look for another company that would reach his expectations. _He _was there, and he'd rather not face him again after the disastrous holidays.

Wade had had the bright idea to sleep with whoever was willing, and by Christmas he had successfully fumbled into the arms (and pants) of Piotr, who kept him busy and warm during the cold bite of the New York winter.

When New Year's Day came around, Wade was already beside himself with guilt. The man had feelings for him, that much he could tell, from the way his arms wrapped around Wade, snuggling closer in the mornings, pressing kisses in the back of his neck before stretching and preparing breakfast for the both of them. One time he even went out of his way just to buy him the cream he used when he ran out. And when Wade complained about the cold making his knee injury flare up, Piotr would crouch down and massage it with surprisingly gentle fingers.

It was such a domestic scene, and Wade knew in his heart of hearts that he didn't deserve him, especially knowing that deep down he didn't have a flare of affection for the man. And so he set up to break up his arrangement with him (because they were never formally together, not really; they had hooked up while drunk and hadn't spoken of any labels).

Piotr may have towered a full foot over Wade's head, but he looked small when he said those words, his features crestfallen. And what did he do? Turned around and hobbled to the door without a backwards glance. 

He didn't really think things through, as Piotr was the manager of a printing business nearby. It was convenient. And now, because he just _couldn't get a damn break, _he had to lose that contact, too. Stupid, Wade, _stupid. _

Another e-mail arrived, and Wade was relieved to be given an excuse to forget about him for a moment.

_Hey W,_

_The price is fine. Money isn't a problem for me. Peter deserves the absolute best, and from what I see in your portfolio, it'll be one of the best gifts he's ever received._

_I'll go for the matte, then, thank you. Also, I'm going to be out of town until then, so will you be able to deliver it to me on the day? I'll cover any costs incurred, of course._

_Attached is the reference you wanted. Hope all goes well!_

_Thanks, Quentin_

"Alright, Mr. Schmooze, calm down," he mumbled to himself, his fingers tapping on the laptop side. Delivery? If his knee wasn't going to act up, sure, why not? Wade had been doing physical therapy for a while now, more rigorously after Weasel had smacked him upright for limping around New York with a blizzard warning out, and so he hadn't felt the need to use the cane in a while. His injury only flared up during cold days, and he'd wisely just have food and groceries delivered to his doorstep (yet another amazing invention of the human race).

The days were getting warmer, of course, and he checked the weather forecast only to see that it was expected to be sunny on the 14th. "As though that means anything," he mumbled in a pessimistic tone. Well, he could always just hire someone to deliver it to the guy, anyway, no problem. Ah, the joys of modern living.

_Hey Quentin,_

_Delivery can be made, no problem. Just give me an address on the day and we're settled._

_If weather permits, I can hand it off to you myself._

_I'll send my first drafts in your e-mail after a few days._

_-W_

He scrunched up his nose, re-reading Quentin's last e-mail. It reeked of the tone of a rich man, flaunting his wealth as if to impress other people. Wade wasn't like the others, and didn't really care about other people's finances. If you can pay, then pay. That wasn't such a big deal, and it wasn't something to be proud of. Wade had been bunker buddies with several people on different walks of life, and he'd never _ever _think of saying such things like 'Money isn't a problem for me'. 

And speaking of Peter, Wade felt a little bad about him just because of Quentin. What kind of person would fall for a guy like Q, anyway? Wade knew not to judge other people too quickly, but the sentence just rubbed him in the wrong way, painting Quentin in a negative light, one that spelled 'douchebag' on his forehead. Only an absolute bonehead or some rich preppy kid of the same taste and calibre would date a man like that.

"Now let's see who's got Mister Money D. Bags hooked," Wade mumbled to himself, opening the picture attached to the e-mail. 

When it loaded, Wade promptly spilled his pho all over his lap.

* * *

"I have never seen you with this bad a case before."

"A case of jackassery?" Wade whined, voice muffled into the crinkly leather sofa he was currently face-planted on.

He didn't see it, but he imagined Neena rolling her eyes before speaking, because she usually did that whenever he tried to be funny but fell flat. "A case of '_oh, shit, he's cute'._"

Wade pushed himself up to lean on his side so he could look his friend straight in the eye. "I do _not _find him cute, Doms."

She snorted in response, sitting down on a modern-looking egg-shaped chair. "Yeah, and I'm in the mafia."

"Well, hang on, we don't know that for sure," Wade wagered, waggling his eyebrows. He gestured around the living room as he spoke. "I mean, look at this. Exposed brick, industrial design, a top-floor duplex in Manhattan. You've been raking in the big dough, haven't you?"

"I just got lucky," she said, grinning at him innocently. Neena was an old friend of his, who he had met on one of his missions while in service. She got out earlier than he did, and had proceeded to market herself as a personal trainer, working part-time shifts in gyms. One night, she had taken a request for a private training session that offered good money, and was faced by a celebrity, whose identity Neena didn't want to divulge. She had been their preferred personal trainer ever since, and had even gotten a more star-studded client base in the course of a few months.

As for the nickname? Wade had competed with her head-to-head in an all-you-can-eat pizza competition, in which they tied. He called her Domino as a funny little throwback.

"Stop side-tracking," Neena said, throwing popcorn at him from the bowl placed carefully on her lap. Wade opened his mouth wide to catch the kernel. "Why are you even concerned about this?"

"Have you _seen_ him?"

"No, because the minute you stepped into my apartment you just collapsed on the couch."

Wade rolled his eyes and pulled his phone out, opening the attached picture of Peter from Quentin's e-mail.

Neena leaned over to see, then whistled. "Oh. Wow."

"Yeah."

"He's got Hollywood hair."

"He's got _Hollywood hair!" _Wade whined, positively smitten. "And would you look at that million-dollar smile! There's no way this guy's not in the celebrity circles..." He trailed off.

Neena fixed him with a glare. "Is_ that _why you came to me? For this? To cross-reference whether he's in my client base?"

"Doms, I would never...!"

"Wade."

"...It was half the reason..."

"Figures," she grumbled, taking his phone to zoom into the picture. "Hmm, no, I can't say for sure. But he _is _cute, that I'll give you."

"Christ." Wade wanted nothing to do with this. He can't even get started with Quentin's commission, always too distracted by the man he was supposed to be painting a picture of. 

Neena leaned forward, poking him on the chest. "Look, Wade, what's it to you, anyway? This guy's taken, and it looks like he's happy. You're not the home-wrecker kind, are you?"

"If I was, I'd give you express permission to throw me off your penthouse suite," Wade snapped, shaking his head. "No, no, it's just... a silly little crush."

And he meant it. Just seeing the guy made his chest tighten and butterflies grow in his stomach. It was making him nauseous, to be honest, because he hadn't felt something so _giddy _after Vanessa. He hated it, reminded him of her, and he just wanted to be done with the work as soon as possible. "Doms, I need your help."

She grimaced a little in sympathy. "I can't really help... all I can say is that you basically have no chance with him."

"Okay, first of all, _wow," _Wade said in mock offense, placing a hand on his chest. "I come here to your humble abode, asking for guidance and wisdom, and you spit it back to my face!"

She just rolled her eyes at him again, eating a handful of popcorn, as he continued. "And second, I might have a chance with him! I've got the bod, I've got the hair. I'll flash him with these cutesy blue eyes and that man will be swooning in no time."

"Check again, genius," Neena said, pointing to the picture. 

Wade raised an eyebrow, not really seeing what she was pointing out. "What, what am I supposed to see? It's just a gorgeous guy in a fitted suit."

"It takes two seconds to look away from his baby-browns and see something really important on the right side," Neena urged. For good measure, she took two fingers and zoomed the screen to emphasize what she was talking about.

When Wade finally recognized it, he felt his stomach fall and a pathetic groan escape his lips. 

"A ring."

* * *

"Will you stop fucking whining? You're scaring my customers away."

"Only thing scaring off your customers is your ugly mug," Wade mumbled, head leaning against his arm outsretched on the bar. It held an empty shotglass upright, which Weasel reluctantly refilled. "What am I gonna do?"

"What you're going to do is forget about the guy." The bartender scoffed, wiping down a glass like all the other bartenders with a speaking role do in movies. "The guy doesn't even know you, and you're acting all smitten as if he actually dated you. The only thing you're giving off is a creepy stalker vibe, and it's not painting you in a good light."

Wade seemed to slump even more on the stool he was sitting on, pouting comically. He swilled the liquid in his shotglass before drinking morosely. "I need to stop..."

"Yes, you do." Weasel nodded. "The guy's spoken for. Don't get in the middle of things."

"I just..." And here Wade sniffed. Weasel looked horrified, panicking in place as he saw tears fall from Wade's eyes. He had seen Wade cry when he had been hung up over Vanessa, and it had been absolutely awful; he didn't know what would console the man, because everything he'd say would just fall on deaf ears. Wade ranted into the air, mumbling to himself, and nothing he could say would penetrate the thick forcefield that he'd put up over his even thicker skull. "I just want the kind of love they have, you know? It's Valentine's Day, this dude's gonna be over the moon by a really thoughtful gift... they look perfect for one another, this Quentin guy obviously knows he's lucky with Peter, and he's bragging here and there that he's with him..."

There were a few more mumbled nothings, garbled by alcohol and the occasional hiccup. Weasel eased the shotglass from his hand, thankful it wasn't met with any resistance. "My break's in a few. Let me get you home."

It was a lot of work lugging Wade around, but he had had considerable practice trudging through heaps of snow. Tonight was a blessedly dry evening, so he took him home with no problem, walking him down a few blocks with Wade's arm around his shoulder. The man was still mumbling darkly to himself, his hair tickling Weasel's chin while his head hung low. He was limping a little, so they took their time until they reached his flat.

"I need to get to work..." Wade said with some clarity, after Weasel had all but thrown him on his bed and fixed himself a cup of water. "Need to... need to..."

"In the morning, man, okay?" He said, then knocked twice on the door to signal that he was going out. "Alright, go rest. No more Peter, okay?"

"Mmkay..."

* * *

"_One grande mocha latte for Peter?"  
_

"Here!"

_Shit, _Wade swore in his mind, his hands stilling. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. _

One was perched on the control+Z buttons, and the other one held a digital tablet pen on his other. He quickly saved his progress, not wanting to make another mistake of _not _saving and losing everything after a random program shut down, then peered over his laptop. "It's not, it can't be, there are so many Peters..."

The wide smile, the brown eyes, the tousle of wet brown hair as the man takes his coffee from the bar with a happy expression. Of all the Peters in New York, Wade had to see the _one _Peter he wanted to meet the most. But couldn't.

"This is a nightmare," he whispered to himself, almost panicking. He needed to leave, quickly. He couldn't continue working on his commission, not here. Overly observant people might see the resemblance between the very, _very _real man walking in between tables and peering on top of the tops of their heads for a vacant seat to the digital painting he was doing on his screen for the better half of three hours now. He started stuffing his things in his bag, trying to keep his head as low as possible.

"Excuse me?" 

He looked up to see the very same Peter, tapping his table with his finger as he held his coffee on his other hand. His smile reached his eyes, which were behind thick, rimmed glasses that made him look nerdy and straight-up _adorable. _"Hi, sorry, are you by any chance leaving?"

Wade opened and closed his mouth, trying to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat. "U-Uh... yes!" He finally croaked out, looking as intelligent as ever. _Smooth. _

"Oh." Peter's smile hadn't dimmed, and Wade had to do his very, utmost best _not _to stare because right now, in the middle of yet another rainy day in New York, Peter looked like he was the sun. There was just something so _warm _about him that made him feel tingly-happy inside. "Then, do you mind if I take your table?"

"Yes! I-I mean, no! I mean--" Wade swore under his breath, and he didn't notice Peter's smile became just a _tad _bit cheekier when he heard it. "Please, take it. I know everyone's rushing to stay indoors, what with the rain and all."

"Great, thanks so much." Peter smiled and placed his bag down on the table, just as Wade had slung the strap of his own messenger bag around his shoulder, laptop firmly placed inside. "Yeah, the rain's just making everyday life harder, but that's that, I suppose."

"Right." Wade looked over and couldn't help but notice the telltale logo emblazoned on his bag. Before he could stop himself, his mouth ran with the first words that popped into his head. "So NYU, huh?"

Peter looked over to where Wade's eyes were, trained on the purple logo on his bag. "Ah! Yes."

"Student?"

The man shook his head, laughing. He adjusted his glasses on his nose as he sat, which still had flecks of rainwater on the lenses. "No, no, not anymore. Ah... I'm a research fellow. Biology department."

"Brainy," Wade commented, and smiled widely as Peter's ears turned pink at the sudden compliment. He looked up as he heard a clap of thunder resound outdoors as yet another sheet of torrential rain fell. "Alright, then, I'll leave you to it."

"Have a good day!" Peter called out to Wade as he left. He turned around to give him a little half-wave, before he put his hood over his head and braved the rain outside. He barely even felt himself limping all the way home, too caught up in the day's events.

* * *

Valentine's Day quickly arrived, and Wade was about to lose his _mind _because of _logistics._

How logistics officers could handle this stress was just simply _a mystery. _Everything felt like it was going all wrong, only on the very same day that the processes needed to be _right. _First, there was the new printing shop, who had promised to print his painting to the appropriate size and finish that he wanted. When he came to the shop to pick up his order half an hour early, he found a very irate customer demanding to print hundreds of business cards, being placated by a lanky teenager that looked like he was just on his first day at the job. No one else was around, and Wade had had to wait in line for the good part of the hour just to pick up his order.

Second was his card not being accepted. Perhaps he had gone drinking the night that he had met Peter in the coffee shop, because there was a history of an Uber ride booked from Weasel's bar to his flat, which was supposed to take payment from his card. The very same card didn't have enough balance to offset the fare, and so it was temporarily disabled. And Wade, jolly good Wade, had only very little cash on him. The nearest ATM was in a mall nearby, but that was already moving farther away from the direction he was supposed to be going to, and, dammit, shouldn't he be there by now?

He swore yet again and ran to the bus stop, mapping out in his mind's eye the direction he had to go to. He mentally prepared the lines he was going to take, all the while making sure that the print was safely tucked into a manila envelope pressed flat against his chest. Wade checked the time on his phone, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. The bus kept stopping once in every five minutes, and Wade wanted to scream in frustration at his _luck._

And, on the fifteenth stop that the bus had made to let some kindergarteners in little yellow frocks, Wade was close to blowing his brains out in frustration when his phone started to ring.

"Oh, _great,_" He grumbled, fishing his phone out of his pocket and shuffling to a corner of the bus, mumbling as quietly as possible. "Hello?"

"Mister uh, Mister Wilson?" The voice asked from the other end of the line. Crisp language, only a little unsure because of the unfamiliar name. 

"Yes, who's speaking?"

"Hi, this is Mr. Quentin Beck, the person who commissioned --?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Beck." He nodded, checking the bus stops ahead. "I'm already on my way, sir. I have the print here, ready for the gift-giving."

"Excellent. I have a frame with me, since I forgot to tell you I'd like to have it framed. No matter." Quentin seemed to cover his mouthpiece, his voice mumbling something to someone else, before he returned. "Sorry. Ah, well, how much longer until you arrive?'

He grimaced, thinking about the closest possible estimation. "Give me around twenty-five minutes. Public transportation, and all."

"I can understand. I'll be at the Stag Head & Co. cafe, in a grey suit."

"Leave it to me, Mr. Beck." And he ended the call, breathing a sigh of relief. He willed the bus to go faster, or at least not take so many stops, but of course this meant that the Universe would go along with whatever favored Wade Winston Wilson, and it would rather collapse in on itself before it did that. 

As the bus finally reached his stop, Wade saw that he was already three minutes late. He almost bodily excused himself from everyone trying to get off the bus in an orderly, non-hurried fashion, and there were some choice swear words ripped loose from New Yorker lips, but to hell with it. He could see who must have been his client, Quentin Beck, through the glass of the coffee shop, frowning as he stared down the face of his smartwatch.

"I'm here!" He burst into the coffee shop door, much to the annoyance of the barista wiping down the counters and the surprise of everyone else in the cafe. He nearly tripped himself trying to reach Beck's table. Wade's knee was flaring up, and he had to hold onto the back of an empty chair to steady himself. Trying to not wince, he held out his free arm. "Mister Beck, I'm Wade Wilson. I've got your commission?"

"Ah, Mister Wilson, thank you." The frown evaporated almost instantly, a winning, charming smile plastered on the guy's handsome face. He was attractive, no doubt -- the _daddy _kind, with his beard and hair, the crow's feet around his bright, blue eyes, the easy-going warmth in his voice. If the guy was single, and if Wade wasn't (still) unfortunately smitten with this guy's fiancé, he would have sat down and not come out of that coffeeshop without at least a number scrawled on a napkin. The man shook his hand. "Please, just call me Quentin."

"Quentin, then." Wade smiled and handed over the envelope. Quentin opened the flap and took out the print of his work, humming in approval. "Sorry I was a bit late."

"It's alright. New York, am I right?" He said jokingly, then gave him the envelope. Wade opened it to find neat twenty-dollar bills, all crisp and new. "The total, as promised. I would invite you to sit, to catch your breath, but Peter is going to arrive any minute."

"He's _what?!" _Wade yelped, panic lacing his voice as his mind went into overdrive. Quentin looked very calm, taking out a bright green pen and scribbling on the front of it, in small capital letters, 'Happy Valentine's Day, I love you. XO, Q', before placing it into the frame. Wade limped around, looking for a place to hide. "I-I-I gotta go."

Quentin looked at him strangely, but didn't get a chance to say thanks or goodbye, as Wade tried to hobble on the first empty seat he found. Sitting on the stool, he made sure he was faced to the table and hurriedly pulled his laptop out of his messenger bag. He opened it to try and pretend to be busy -- _calmly. _

By the time the barista went over to take his coffee order, the door to the cafe swung open with the bells jingling, and in came Peter. Wade would recognize him anywhere, but today it was a little odd to see Peter look so... _wary. _He had a light coat on, as well as a black messenger bag slung around his shoulders. His glasses were still on his nose, although Wade noticed there was a roll of tape around the frame, adding to the dorky appeal. He came over to Quentin's table, sitting across from him, seemed to sit calmly and as proper as possible.

Wade wondered the dynamics of their relationship, because the Peter that he met in the cafe a few days ago was not _this _Peter at all. Gone was the inviting warmth that he had shown to an actual stranger on a rainy day. It was met with cool posture and an expressionless face. Peter's hands were even folded on the table, his back ramrod straight as he talked quietly with Quentin. It was such an awkward contrast to the dozens of hearts hanging from the ceiling and the red, cursive writing on the glass beside their table.

He bit his lip, because even if their behavior was odd, Wade could see them together. They looked handsome separately, and downright sinfully attractive together, in a sophisticated way as if to say that they met in a high-end celebrity party after New Year's, and had clandestine dates in between driving around in old Mercedezes and Bentleys. Peter was incredibly smart, and Quentin looked to be his equal. He found himself curling his fist into a ball, his nails digging into his palm, because really, why did he thought he ever had a chance with Peter in the first place?

There was a flash of silver, the sunlight glinting off the metal strap of Quentin's smartwatch as he bent over to retrieve the commission from where he had hidden it. Wade waited with bated breath as Peter looked over it, a flash of surprise flitting across his face as he saw the artwork. His eyes widened even more as he read the inscription written on the front. 

Wade saw Quentin reach for Peter's left hand across the table. What he didn't see was the lightning-fast reflex of Peter's right hand, smacking Quentin loudly across the face with the force of a thousand suns.

Everyone in the cafe only had time to process the sound and the scene for a second before Peter took his bag and abruptly stalked off.

He didn't know what possessed him. Wade just found himself automatically slamming down a ten-dollar bill on the table for his untouched coffee before his legs made him take after the man who just walked out without a second thought.

* * *

He found him in Central Park, in one of the first benches from the entrance closest to the cafe. 

With only a few yards in between them, Wade suddenly stopped. What was he even doing, running after Peter like this? He didn't even know him! He might remember, from earlier at the cafe where they met, but he didn't know the connection he had with Quentin. Would it make him look bad in Peter's eyes? Why did he care? And what was he even planning to say to him?

"Quentin, for the love of God, leave me alone," Peter almost growled, not turning around from where he sat. His voice didn't sound stuffy, and he wasn't wiping tears away by the looks of it. Wade didn't know whether to take that as a good or bad sign.

He blinked in confusion. "No, no. No Quentin here," Wade said. Peter's head turned around over his shoulder, and Wade held up his hands on instinct. "Just me."

"You." Peter blinked, recognition flashing in his eyes for a brief moment before suspicion quickly followed. His back straightened, and he held onto his bag. "W-What are you...?"

"I-I work with Mr. Beck." He yelped when he saw Peter stand up, intending to walk away. "Wait, no, not _work-work_. God, Wade, stupid... I was hired."

"_Hired?!"_ Peter shouted indignantly, stepping back looking all wary. "He _hired _you to follow me?!"

"What?! No!" Wade groaned and rubbed his hands on his face in frustration. "Look. Let's restart, alright? Backpedal hard. My name is Wade. I'm a freelancer. Mr. Beck commissioned me for a Valentine's Day gift for you."

Peter frowned, still not believing him. But at least he stayed rooted to where he stood. Wade took his phone out and showed him Quentin's email thread requesting the commission. "Here, he replied to a call for commissions I posted couple of weeks ago."

As he peered through his glasses, Peter's shoulders minutely sagged as he read each and every word. By the time he had arrived at the end of the thread, Peter could only sigh, running a hand through his hair and messing it up more. "Okay, okay. Er... Wilson, was it?"

"Call me Wade."

"Wade." Peter nodded, smiling uncertainly. "Well, uh, I must say, thank you for the valiant effort. Although I'm not sure why you've followed me."

"No, I just..." he floundered mentally. Why _had _he followed him out? He racked his brains for a millisecond, even though he already knew very well that he didn't have a good, logical answer. "I just wanted to check how you were doing," he answered lamely, after a few seconds of trying to find an excuse. "I thought there must've been something else going on, for you to make a scene on Valentine's Day."

Peter just raised an eyebrow, silent for a minute, before sitting back down on the bench and motioning for Wade to do the same. Their knees almost touched, a few inches in between, but it was nothing suffocating nor awkward for Wade. "Sorry about that... It's kind of a long story."

"I've got nowhere to be," Wade challenged, smiling as Peter's own grin grew marginally bigger. "So, what happened? Did your fiancé show up late to dinner? The iPhone he gave you wasn't in the color you wanted?"

"_Ex-_fiancé," Peter stressed, and Wade's mouth went slack. He glanced down briefly to Peter's hand, and, sure enough, there was no silver band around his finger anymore. Peter saw him looking and wiggled his fingers for emphasis. "Guess you can say I'm back in the market."

"Oh, uh, right." Wade could feel himself blushing, and Peter's eyes seemed all too invasive especially when he regarded him with a rueful look. "C-Congratulations?"

Peter snorted softly, then leaned back against the bench. "Yeah..."

"What happened?" He mumbled, incredulous. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"I don''t, not really."

"Sorry, it's just... wow. I thought you two were solid." And it was true. Quentin gave absolutely _zero _indication that they weren't even remotely together anymore. He talked about him as though their wedding was to be held a week from Valentine's Day. The man was clearly head over heels about him, so the scene at the cafe didn't seem to click.

"Me too," was all Peter said, all wistful and a little bit sad. "But I found out he only started dating me to get back at my former boss." 

"Oh." Wade didn't know what else to say. Clearly, Quentin had had time to develop his feelings for him -- Wade was crazy, sure, but not in a "hitch-myself-to-a-revenge-plot" way -- but it was understandable that Peter would have been truly shaken by this discovery. The very thought of having the foundations of their love and life afterwards established on something so banal and petty as _revenge _certainly didn't look good for him. "I'm sorry."

Peter shrugged it off, trying to seem nonchalant. The only thing giving away that he wasn't as calm and aloof as he pretended to be was his hand, picking at a frayed thread in his ripped jeans. "You can't really trust someone like that. Everything they do or say after that point would just be cast in doubt."

Wade nodded in understanding. "So you just decided to cut things off?"

"Seemed pertinent to." He mumbled. "When he texted to meet up today, I had doubts because -- well, it's Valentine's Day. But I only came after he told me he was going to give back the house key I gave him. I only meant to pop in and get it. And, well, you saw what happened afterwards."

Wade sighed weakly and nodded, watching the ducks paddle around the lake lazily in front of him. He had a lot to say about Quentin at this point, because, really, the _nerve _of that guy. But he didn't want to tread on shaky ground. In any case, the man beside him was more interesting altogether, and more deserving of his attention at that point.

Peter shook his head. "Thank you, anyway, Wade. I'm sorry I couldn't take a good look of what you drew."

"It's no problem." There was a pause, and he tilted his head, smiling a little coyly. "In fact, you know what? I'll give you a copy. You're the subject, anyway. Pity that I basically made it for you and you never had a chance to look at it properly."

"Oh, but I -"

"Don't mention it, it's nothing." He waved off his concern, and Peter smiled widely as he pulled out his phone, with a little Pikachu phone charm hanging off at the end. He gave his phone to Peter so he could punch in his email address on his Gmail app.

Before his brain could even formulate any reasoning, his mouth blurted out, "Uhm... question... are you busy the rest of the day?"

Peter looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "Hmm, why do you ask?"

"I'm guessing you're gonna need to de-stress after what just happened." Wade stood up, his voice suggestive of something. But not forceful. He'd never do that to Peter. Plus, he had already shot his foot with the sudden question. Might as well dig his own grave the rest of the way and be done with it. "I know a place. Cafe, secluded, and pretty hole-in-the-wall. Might be something going against the grain of where Quentin would usually take you, but..."

"I'd love to," Peter said suddenly, standing up. His smile was bright, and his eyes shone brighter at the suggestion, even though Wade hadn't gotten around to fully asking.

His heart leapt at his throat, but Wade was happy nonetheless. "G-Great! Yeah, that's great. Uh, follow me."

"Your treat?"

Wade looked over at Peter, with his big brown eyes blown wide and twinkling with mischief and amusement. "I can't say no to that face, now, can I?"

Peter laughed, obviously charmed, before Wade started leading them out of Central Park, away from where they had come from. As their steps fell into place, conversation flowing freely and unforced between them, Wade saw out of the corner of his eye a lone red heart-shaped balloon fly off into the sky.

Peter pointed it out, his arm brushing against Wade's as they walked, and he thought, _Maybe today isn't as bad as it ought to be._


End file.
